


oh, how I love you

by todreaminscarlet



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Family time, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Gen, Young!Ben Solo, everyone is happy and nothing sad has happened, i cannot over state that, like complete and utter fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-05 09:17:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6699004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/todreaminscarlet/pseuds/todreaminscarlet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She looks at Ben, and she sees pieces of herself and Han (and even Luke) but then he looks at her with sparkling, lively eyes and a mischievous grin, and there is something so uniquely him that she cannot think of anyone who has come before. (His face is open and his ears are too big and he's so strong and yet so young, and she could not love him more if she tried.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	oh, how I love you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [13letters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/13letters/gifts).



> my dear, dear friend, I hope you know how much all of your comments and words of encouragement have meant to me. Fluff is not my strength, but I tried for you (also as an apology for all of the angst). Thank you, thank you, thank you. 
> 
> to everyone else: much of this comes from conversations we have had together and things 13letters said, so I cannot take credit for it all.

“Hi baby,” Leia whispers to the infant cradled in her arms. He’s just hours old, red and wrinkled with eyelids that flutter as he sleeps and little rosebud lips that pucker and move. He’s tiny like this, safe in her arms, and it’s almost incomprehensible that just hours before he was still inside of her.

 

Dark, straight hair falls down over his forehead, and she can see Han’s features already clear on their baby son’s face. She ghosts a finger down the edge of his nose and brushes his wispy hair away across his head. He murmurs in his sleep, and she pauses and pulls him closer to her chest. “Shhhh,” she breathes. The baby turns his head closer to her warmth, and she leans down to brush his face with her lips. She can’t stop looking at him—her baby boy. She can’t tear her eyes away from the little features that she made, at this piece of her, this eight-pound bundle of life that carries her whole heart.

 

She can feel him.

 

She can feel him in the Force, in her heart—a connection deeper than any other she has experienced; it’s something so undeniable, so indescribable, that even if she tried for a hundred years she could never find the words.

 

She won’t even try.

 

Instead, she just stares at the little dark-eyed, dark-haired baby of hers—something innocent and perfect and untainted by all that has been her history (a history which will some day be his, but not this day; not the day when all things are new and clean and bright).

 

“Hi Ben,” Leia whispers, “I’m so glad you’re mine.”

 

* * *

 

“Come ‘ere, Ben,” Han says. He is sitting on the ground with his legs sprawled out to either side of him and his arms forward in the air motioning to the wavering little toddler clinging to Leia’s fingers. Ben’s standing and staring at his feet with studious intensity, and he turns his head to look at Leia with such doubt on his childish face that Leia cannot help but laugh.

 

“Go on, Ben!” she tells him and he looks back to his father and takes a careful step forward. Leia untangles her fingers from Ben’s pudgy ones and watches with choked breath as Ben takes another step and then another, until he has crossed the short distance to Han’s awaiting arms.

 

“That’s my boy,” Han tells him and Leia feels those traitorous tears come to the back of her eyes at the sight of Ben’s delighted grin. He flings his arms around Han’s neck, and Han looks at her with a matching smile. “Back to mama,” Han says and sets Ben back on his feet.

 

Leia watches as Ben toddles toward her, and she wishes there that this moment could hold on for an eternity. Just her and Ben and Han (and Luke and Chewie), forever, like this—happy and delighted, forever.

 

“Good job, Ben!” she cheers as he comes into her arms and plasters his hands on her cheeks and curls his lips into a toothy smile. “Great job.”

 

* * *

 

“We need to be quiet,” she whispers to Ben. He’s sitting in her lap, legs kicking the air, as they wait for the Senate committee meeting to begin.

 

“I wanna go with Dad!” he tells her, and she holds a finger up to her lips.

 

“You can go see Dad later,” she says, and Ben leans back into her chest and grabs a bunch of her hair that falls across her shoulder. He fingers her hair and she winces at the pulling, but he’s silent now, so she lets him play with her hair.

 

He’s a heavy weight in her lap, but she’s happy to have him there. He rarely sits still long enough for her to take him with her like this, but now that he’s older, she tries more. He plays on a datapad sitting on the table, and every few minutes he looks up at her—one minute with a cheeky, delighted grin, and the next with a curious, serious gaze.

 

He watches the meeting with reflective concentration, and she smiles down at his dark haired head. This is her boy, and she is proud of him. The meeting ends—later than it should have, in her humble opinion—but it ends, and she gently shakes Ben and grins down at him when he turns around to look at her with childlike offense. “You ready to find dad?” she asks him, and his lips turn up into a crooked, pleased smile.

 

“Yes!” he says, and he wiggles off her lap and grabs her hand after she gathers her bag.

 

They walk down to Leia’s speeder and then they’re off to the Falcon’s hanger. The speeder accelerates through the air, and she looks down at Ben’s delighted face. He’s propped up on his knees, even with the strap around him, staring off at the sights around him. Flying is always one of Ben’s very favorite things, and it is in these moments that she can see Han—and Luke—so very clearly on his little face.

 

They pull up a bit away from the Falcon, and she can see Han walk down to the ground and wave their direction. “Look!” she tells Ben, and he waves back to his dad. She helps him out of the speeder, and he takes off running and Han catches him up in his arms.

 

Han props Ben up on his hip and starts talking to him before Leia can approach. She comes close and leans in to kiss him as Han swings an arm around her waist. He grins his crooked smile down at her and then refocuses his attention back on his son. Ben’s babbling about what he’s seen this morning, and Han pulls his arm from her waist and slings it around her shoulder and guides them back into the Falcon, Ben babbling away and waving his pudgy hands in the air. It’s a beautiful day—the sky is clear and the breeze is gentle and the Falcon smells like grease and metal and Han’s warmth radiates by her side—it’s a wonderful day.

 

* * *

 

“Please be responsible,” Leia says, and the irony is that this is the last person to whom she would have imagined uttering those words.

 

Luke grins at her and grabs her forearms before pulling her into a rough hug. “Don’t worry about us,” he laughs, and somehow it doesn’t reassure her. (This is Luke, her older brother, hero of the galaxy and the last Jedi, and those titles don’t erase the image of her son floating in the air the last time she left him under Luke’s care.)

 

She pulls herself away from him and throws him one of her most doubtful, scathing, patented Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan glares, to which he only smiles more.

 

“Honestly, Leia, I’m not gonna hurt him,” he says.

 

“Yeah I know,” she tells his twinkling eyes, and she kisses his cheek before grabbing her bag and datapad from the table and heading out the door.

 

Hours and innumerable pointless debates later, she’s walking through the door—feet aching and mind fed up with the drivel and misunderstanding rampant within galactic government.

 

She tosses her datapad on the chair by the door and toes off her shoes and walks into the central chamber, and halts.

 

There, on the floor, is Luke and Ben, not with Ben suspended in the air, but nestled in the crook of Luke’s arm. Luke’s face is pillowed in Ben’s wavy hair, and Ben’s four-year-old fists tightly clench Luke’s tunic. The room is a mess—pillows strewn about across the floor, blankets tossed across the settees, Luke’s robe on the table.

 

They’re fast asleep.

 

She stands, her hands on her hips, and turns slowly around, and breathes in and out slowly.

 

It’s a _mess._

 

She goes to her room and lets her hair out of its braids and changes into one of her lounge suits. She pauses and looks at herself in the mirror—her eyes are shadowed and she thinks she might be getting wrinkles in the corners by her eyes and her feet are still aching, but she just sighs and runs her fingers through her hair quickly before looking away with a huff. She walks back to Luke and Ben slowly and grabs a blanket to begin tidying up the room.

 

She looks down again at her brother and son, blond and brown hair brushing close together. Luke’s face is smooth and peaceful, and Ben’s pink lips have pushed out into an incontrovertible pout.

 

She fingers the soft blanket she has halfway folded and looks around at the mess surrounding her.

 

It can wait.

 

Specifically, it can wait for Luke to clean when he wakes, she decides.

 

Leia shakes out the blanket and eases herself on the ground next to Ben. She brushes her fingers through Ben’s hair and throws the blanket over the three of them and lets out a long, deep breath. The Force is quietly humming in her veins, its power present but calm; she can feel the measured breaths lifting her brother’s chest and hears the quiet murmurs of her son as he dreams. The light from the windows is turning deep, softened blue as the day edges toward night; she is warm under the blanket, and it is easy to breathe and allow her limbs to become heavy. The room is darker, and her lashes flutter before softly falling shut.

 

The mess will wait.

 

* * *

 

“Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom,” Ben repeats. She flutters her hand and grimaces in his direction. He’s propped up on his stool by the table, leaning over it like she has told him a thousand times not to do.

 

His fingers are clenched together into fists, and she knows she has approximately three minutes to end this call before Ben becomes completely unmanageable. She has his sandwiches almost finished, and she just needs to get the Senator to agree to one more point before they hang up.

 

“Mom. Mom. I’m hungry. Mom,” he continues, and she turns to face him and props out a hip and opens her arms to him in irritation. He sinks down into his chair and pouts.

 

She keeps talking and grabs a knife and cuts the edges off the sandwiches just like he likes them. She grabs an apple and a pear and holds them up and quizzically tilts her head in his direction in response to which he points to the pear. She peels and cuts it up into pieces on his plate and carries it over to him.

 

She continues talking as Ben starts to eat and rolls her eyes at him when she sees him glance up at her through the fringe falling into his eyes. His dark eyes are twinkling and apologetic at the same time, and she really wishes that she could be more frustrated with him. But she can’t (or she won’t), not with her little brown-eyed serious, impatient, loving terror of a child.

 

She finishes her call (gets the Senator’s agreement, like she knew she would), and she grabs her own plate to sit across from Ben, who is inhaling his food at a frightening pace. She nudges his leg under the table with her own, and he scowls back at her (already a bit of grump, this boy of hers. She dreads the commencement of his teenage years). But then his scowl breaks into a smile, and his ears are too big for his little face and his smile is awkward (but oh so charming), and she can only smile back at him.

 

The sun streams through the floor length windows and casts shadows with the furniture across the length of the floor; the sweet juice from her apple is dripping down her fingers making them sticky, and her hair is falling into her eyes. Ben’s smirking at her, no doubt planning his next escapade, and still Leia can’t help but smile.

 

* * *

 

“When will Mom be back?” Ben asks, and Han looks over his shoulder at his floppy-haired son sprawled on the Falcon floor. He’s looking over at Han with an impatient, curious gaze, and Han just sighs (Ben knows the answer. He asked it the day she left and yesterday and again this morning when he got up, and they both just need a distraction).

 

“Hand me the wrench, kid,” he says, and Ben wiggles across the floor and hands Han the tool. Han looks down at the boy and smirks: it’s good Leia won’t be back for three more days at least. Ben’s filthy.

 

Like, honestly, from head to toe.

 

Dirt. Dust. Grease.

 

There are brown streaks across his face and his shirt is stained, and Han looks down to his matching attire. They’re a mess. He grins down at Ben and Ben grins back, and Han sets the wrench down and motions to Ben.

 

“Come ‘ere, Ben,” he says, and Ben scampers up off the ground. Han grabs him around the waist, lifts him, and braces him against his chest. “You see that?” he points into the compartment at a group of tangled wires in the dark. “I’m gonna replace the wires to help her run better.”

 

“Whatcha gonna do?” Ben asks. He strains forward in Han’s sturdy grasp, and Han holds him tighter.

 

“Here,” Han says and offers Ben the wrench. “Reach in right there, put the wrench on the nut, good boy, okay now to the left,” and he guides Ben’s wrist.

 

“What’s that?” Ben asks and points into the back of the compartment.

 

Han tells him and sets him down and Ben leans back against his chest. His boy is getting bigger and he’s getting smarter, and these moments are so important (Ben’ll need to know all this, after all, he thinks, when the Falcon’s his).

 

Ben looks up and grins, and Han grins back and tousles his hair.

 

* * *

 

“Why does Dad try?” Ben asks, and Leia can’t do anything but laugh. She bends over the table in front of her and laughs until tears come to her eyes.

 

“Hey!” Han says, and she sits up and wipes under her eyes. He’s standing by the stove, feet braced, hands spread apart, with a look of indignant disbelief written across his face. “I try, because one time it’ll work fine!” He turns away, throwing another disgusted look over his shoulder. “Try,” Leia can hear him scoff.

 

“Mama?” Ben says and comes over to lean against her arm. She wraps her arm around his waist, and she looks up at his face. He looks down at her and smiles, and she winks.

 

“It’s not gonna taste good,” Ben says, his face scrunched up so much like Han’s, and she pulls his head close and kisses it.

 

“Nah, it probably won’t,” she agrees. They both look over into the galley, at Han who is devotedly working to finish the batch of cookies. “But maybe one day,” she says, and Ben shakes his head sadly. “Go grab your book, baby,” she tells him and Ben brings it back to her. She pushes her chair back and Ben climbs up into her lap. He begins to read to her, and just a few minutes later, Leia sniffs the air, closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and looks over at Han. The air’s smoky and Han’s standing with his shoulders all sloped and disappointed and Ben’s looking wise and all-knowing, and Threepio’s shrieking about hazards and damage, and Leia wraps her arms around Ben, rests her forehead on his back and just laughs.

 

Until tears come from her eyes.

 

Shaking.

 

She opens her eyes finally and sees that Ben is laughing, his eyes scrunched and ears too big, and Han is staring at them exasperated, and yet the lines at the corners of his eyes are moving and his lips are twitching, and he takes the few steps to their table and sinks down across from them. He runs his hand across his face and brushes his hands through his hair.

 

And laughs.

 

“One day, hotshot,” she tells him after she can breath again. “One day.”

 

* * *

 

“Did’ja wash your teeth?” Han asks. Ben nods, climbs into bed, and burrows down under his covers. Leia follows Han into the room carrying the clothes Ben had discarded in the fresher and failed to carry back to his room. It’s dark outside, and they’re all home for a few weeks with time to get comfortable and see their friends and spend time together. Ben’s bed has a new quilt, brought to them by Chewbacca, and Leia sits on Ben’s bed with him as Han shuts the window drapes and turns off the room’s lights. She twists her body to sit against the headboard and rests her arm above Ben’s head on his pillow.

 

“Uncle Luke’s coming tomorrow,” she whispers, and Ben smiles up at her. “He’ll be here bright and early so you better get your sleep.”

 

“Are we gonna go to the diner?” Ben asks, and Leia brushes her fingers through his hair.

 

“Probably,” she answers.

 

Han sits down at the foot of the bed and tweaks her toe. She presses his thigh in gentle retaliation, and he grabs it and begins to rub. She keeps brushing Ben’s hair and hums under her breath. It’s a song Breha used to sing—a song she made up just for Leia when she was a little girl, and it’s moments like this that she remembers Breha best (but not all the words to the song, Leia mourns. Many of them have slipped away, like so much of Breha has, but she remembers her gentle voice and the way she used to sing and the way her fingers felt and she remembers a few of the words—the important ones. She remembers the ‘my Leia, my little girl,’ ‘who’s my little baby, who’s my little girl,’ and somehow it’s both not enough and everything she needs).

 

It’s moments like this, when the sun has set and a child’s eyes flicker as he drifts towards sleep, when the room is warm and blankets are heavy and the light falls from the hall into the darkened chamber, that all of those old memories come flooding back and it is so easy to remember her homeland. She remembers Alderaan so clearly, so painfully, that she thinks that it might be outside the window were she to go look. But she knows it is not, and the grief of it still feels so fresh even after all these years. But she closes her eyes and feels the warmth (and the peace of the Force) and she draws a steady breath into her lungs. She can smell the sweetness of Ben’s freshly washed hair and the faint dampness lingering in the strands passing through her fingers. She has lost so much, and yet here Ben sleeps, youthful and free and safe, and her heart is full.

 

Han’s still rubbing her feet, his hands steady and sure, and she meets his eyes. They’re reflecting the hall light, half of his face in shadow, but she can still see the new lines in his handsome face, the additional gray in his hair, and she cannot miss the love shining in them that makes her breath catch in her lungs.

 

These are quiet moments, her and Han and Ben sitting together, and the world and its problems seem so distant and elusive. It’s beautiful and peaceful, and it’s not what she once imagined, but she can’t deny the truth that it’s so much _more_ than anything she could have pictured. She didn’t plan for Ben, didn’t expect Han in a time of war and loss (couldn’t have imagined gaining a brother somewhere in the middle of her story), and yet. (And yet.)

 

Ben has drifted away into sleep and the Force is calm (just smooth seas of serenity and sensation), and she’s growing tired herself, and the force knows that she’ll need every ounce of strength and patience to deal with Ben and his excitement and whatever adventures Luke and Han and Ben plan for tomorrow, and maybe it’s time for her to go to bed.

 

She looks up at Han again, and his eyes are still declaring the love that she knows guides his every move (through the child-rearing and the misunderstandings and the joking and the caring and the small things and big things and fights and laughter). His lips begin to move, his voice silent, and she read the words that he forms: _I love you._

 

_I know_ , she mouths back, and she does.

**Author's Note:**

> random thoughts: 
> 
> I am firmly of the belief that Han & Leia were awesome parents and deserve every good thing. 
> 
> also, i'm still new to star wars, so I'm trying to get all the terms right. If they're wrong, I'm v sorry. 
> 
> ALSO, the song thing comes from something my mom used to sing to me, and i JUST realized that I've apparently forgotten a lot of it?? somehow I need to make my mom sing it again, soooo, I now gotta call her and have that not be awkward. 
> 
> i'm on tumblr @adaperturamlibri. pls come talk to me & watch me flail about obi-wan kenobi mostly.


End file.
